I HEAR the bugler Wind amid the boughs Sounding tumultuous music, -- mighty notes Resurgent as the surf-beat of the sea; And while the supple branches sway thereto, As in a vision I behold great hosts Marching beneath the sun's gold oriflamme; Not Timur's hordes, nor Attila's long lines, Nor the dense legions of the Corsican, Wan specters of the illimitable past, But living men in motley multitudes, -- Pale peoples of the North with dull, deep eyes, And swarthy sons from lands of oil and vine. Through thy wide gateways, oh, beloved land, They sweep unceasing. Is the bugler Wind, Vociferous through his gamut of loud stops, Prophetic of black menace? -- to deaf ears Voicing full-throated warning of the time When his tense tones shall seem but echoes faint Of what these tongues shall threaten? -- Who can say? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH ON A HARE by WILLIAM COWPER MIDWINTER BLUES by JAMES LANGSTON HUGHES TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE FIRST DAY: PAUL REVERE'S RIDE [APRIL 1775] by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW ALMS by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY MARY'S GIRLHOOD (FOR A PICTURE): 1 by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 9 by ALFRED TENNYSON |